


Across Time and Space

by bluetears07



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013)
Genre: Asperger Syndrome, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-25 12:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4960474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluetears07/pseuds/bluetears07
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While in New York on business, Nigel stumbles across an enchanting stargazer in the park.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Across Time and Space

**Author's Note:**

> First attempt at writing this pair. Originally written for Spacedogs Appreciation Week. Cleaned up and expanded a little since originally posted.

Cocaine coursing through his veins, delicious numb dripping down the back of his throat, Nigel’s baser impulses take him on a detour through Central Park. Maybe he’ll pick up some rough trade; that is if his associate remains a reliable source for such information, then this spot is notorious for such lurid activities. With his business in New York concluded, Nigel feels like celebrating. Hence sampling the coke. As well the hope of acquiring a pliant young thing to bounce on his dick for a few hours before the long flight back to Bucharest. Imagination working overtime, a low hum buzzes against his lips. He hasn’t gotten his dick wet in ages.

All work and no play makes Nigel a dull boy.

A wicked smirk cuts across his face as the thought spins around his head, zipping behind his eyes as the coke hits its stride.

It’s some of the highest quality shit he’s ever had the privilege of tasting. Pupils blown, pulse racing, skin electric, libido in overdrive. He has not had a high like this in a long time.

Nigel thumbs the side of his nose with a sniff. Prowling along the narrow path, dead leaves crunching underfoot, he peers into the empty darkness. Nothingness stares back. Not a single soul in sight. Just the faint sounds of traffic circling around the periphery. He continues wandering, veering back to a main stretch of the park lined with old wooden benches.

Instead of gangly teenagers or desperate junkies, he stumbles across a buttoned-down young man sat all alone stargazing. Of all the fucking things. Face tipped upwards, he looks a million light years away. A lonely angel in ill-fitting jeans lost to the murky heavens that hold only a meager handful of stars shining through the city’s hazy atmosphere. The boy brushes a stray curl away from his face when a gentle breeze ruffles his hair.

Sweet Jesus, Nigel swears his dick is already impossibly hard.

Whether it’s the drugs or something more substantial, the pull feels nothing short of magnetic.

“What are you looking at up there, darling?” He strolls over, fishing out a crumpled package of cigarettes from his trouser pocket.

“Draconid meteor shower.” The young man blinks, voice flat and dismissive. His eyes dart over Nigel’s face, flitting about before alighting on an exposed patch of skin at his collarbone.

“How?” He asks, striking a match. The cigarette bobs as he speaks. “Can’t see fuck all with this rather abysmal light pollution?” He lights up with a crackling deep drag.

“I’m sorry, I don’t—”

The young man falls silent the second Nigel casually invades his personal space, settling down beside him, all grace and long limbs. An arm stretches out along the back of the bench, whispering past the nape of the young man’s neck. He shivers before scooting away. It doesn’t make much of a difference on the small seat.

“Not one single fucking star,” Nigel sighs looking up at the sky, smoke curling around his mouth. The crisp autumn air accentuates the wispy cloud slipping from between his lips.

“Yes,” the man bristles, shoulders tight with agitation as he hunches forward, “the visibility is extremely poor for stargazing. However, my father and I found that this is the best spot in Manhattan. I don’t have a car or a license in order to drive to a better location, so my options are limited.”

“Here.” Nigel pulls out his smartphone, scrolling through a few photos before selecting one. “Took this last week. Romanian countryside,” he clarifies as he hands the phone over, crossing his legs as he leans in closer.

“Wow.” With the simple gesture, the man unravels. All the awkward stiffness flows out of his body as he becomes engrossed in the image. Nigel grins as the look of pure wonder spreads across angelic features. Absolutely breathtaking. Nearly painful in its perfection. God, he needs another bump. He draws in another lungful of tobacco. “For being taken with a cell phone camera not intended for nighttime photography, this is incredible.” A smile slowly blossoms on the man’s face as he zooms in on the photo to carefully examine every pixel. His cock twitches. “You can even see Ophiuchus.”

“Offe—what?” Nigel teases with a chuckle at the boyish enthusiasm.

“Ophiuchus. The constellation. It means serpent-bearer in Greek. It’s made up of ten main stairs. See? Here, here, here, here, here…” he continues, tracing the constellation on the screen. Nigel watches the curve of his lips, the flutter of his lashes, the blue of his eyes. “It is rarely visible in the night sky; it only appears in the Northern Hemisphere in June and October.” The litany of words buzz meaninglessly in his ears, but the rapid-fire speed of his excitement is nonetheless enchanting. A warm wash of innocent joy Nigel rarely encounters. Intoxicating. He glances over at Nigel, shifting uncomfortably as he stares at the empty space just to the right of his face. “Are you interested in astronomy?”

Nigel takes a long pull off his cigarette.

“I enjoy looking at beautiful things.” Running his fingertips along the curve of the man’s ear, he skims them down his thrumming pulse to rim the collar of his worn button-down. Another little shudder and a lovely pink blush stain his cheeks. He nods his head in agreement, rolling his lips into his mouth. The skin at his knuckles turns white as he clasps them together between his legs.

“I have to go,” he declares suddenly. With a jolt, he moves to stand.

Nigel catches his wrist.

“Tell me your name.”

“No.” There’s no malice in his voice, just a calm refusal. “Goodnight.” He pulls against the restraint.

Nigel lets him go.

He only makes it a couple feet before stopping abruptly. Spine a rigid line of indecision, he turns back to stare at Nigel. His chest rises and falls with several deep breaths; itching fingers tug at the zippers of his jacket pockets. Something tight and primal, nestled just beneath his sternum, makes Nigel want to soothe every trace of tension. After a few seconds of internal debate, brows furrowed, face twisted with an endearing confusion, the young man speaks up.

“W-why did you sit next to me?”

“Like I said,” Nigel starts, standing, crossing the short distance separating them. He flicks the spent cigarette over his shoulder, free hand sliding into his pocket. The man takes a step backwards, still refusing to meet his gaze. Hot breath puffs against his throat. “I enjoy looking at beautiful things.” The man glances up, startled to still find Nigel intently watching him.

“All you’re looking at is me?” he accuses, perplexed. He shakes his head adamantly. “I’m not beautiful.”

“Now who told you that?” His voice dips low, quiet and protective. Long fingers curl around the sharp contours of the man’s jaw. Apparently too lost inside his own head, the intimate contact fails to elicit a reaction.

“Society. Science. People like me ar—”

Nigel ducks down, stealing the words from his mouth with a soft kiss. A gentle gasp and he licks his way inside the boy’s mouth. It tastes sweeter than anything he has ever indulged in, the antithesis of a hard fuck he had been seeking only ten minutes ago. Yet, what should be disgustingly saccharine satisfies the gnawing hunger in the pit of his stomach. The young man slowly melts into the kiss, an easy pressure mounting as he reciprocates the touch.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Nigel sighs, tracing the swell of the lower lip, shiny with shared saliva. A pink tongue flicks out to trace the same path, eyes firmly locked on Nigel’s smiling mouth.

“Can you,” he swallows thickly, the jut of his larynx bobbing in his throat, skittish and striking, “can you do that again?”

“Anything you like, darling.”

The boy leans into him, hands fisting in the expensive fabric of his suit jacket. Absolute surrender. Fuck-off fantastic, knees weak, head spinning, heart racing, better than any drug he’s ever tried kind of surrender. But maybe he’s losing track of just who is succumbing to who when it’s the other man who pulls away first.

“You taste like smoke,” he breathes, making a face that draws out a huff of a laugh from Nigel. Curious fingers tug at his clothing, rubbing it against his skin, exploring the rich texture. He’s not sure the other man is even aware he’s doing it. “I have to go,” he repeats, disentangling himself from Nigel. Without a word, Nigel slips his hands into the man’s coat pockets. Buried inside he finds an old flip phone. “What are you doing?” Cigarette clamped between his lips with a dazed smirk, Nigel types his US number into the man’s mobile. “Nigel?” he reads off the screen. “Oh, uh, Adam.” The strained smile seems more a forced convention than the sweet expression he wore only a few moments prior.

“Adam.” He rolls the name over his tongue, savoring each syllable and considers the universe’s strange sense of humor. He’s not fucking Eve and Central Park is certainly no fucking Eden. “Call whenever you like,” Nigel whispers, the pad of his thumb stroking along the warm curve of Adam’s cheek.

“Okay.” For the first time he briefly meets Nigel’s gaze.

Oh, fuck.

“Goodnight, Adam.”

Watching the young man walk away, Nigel knows full well he has no intention of making it to JFK in the morning.


End file.
